Silver Bracelet 02: As I Knew He Would
by Brandon
Summary: In which a woman prays for her daughter.


TITLE: As I Knew He Would   
SPOILER WARNING: Beyond the Sea; Ascension; One Breath, Redux II   
RATING: PG, I suppose. No bad language, no sex, no violence. But it ain't Disney.   
CONTENT WARNING: Religious content, handled as respectfully as I know how.   
CLASSIFICATION: SRA; Maggie/Bill, sr; MSR   
SUMMARY: A companion piece to [Transfiguration][1]; it will make little sense if you haven't read that one. This is what Maggie saw and was thinking. There are also two sequels (so far): [Faith and Acceptance][2] and [Reconciliation][3].   
DEDICATION: Comps to Rachel (Wagacca@aol.com) for putting the idea into my head that there could be more. Any coolness herein is a credit to her; any lack of same is my responsibility. Rachel, I don't know if this is what you had in mind, but it's what came out when I started typing. Hope you like it.   


As I Knew He Would 

by Brandon D. Ray 

He has come to her, as I knew he would. 

My daughter was not happy when she arrived at my home last night. She has not been happy for a long time, for almost a year now, but this was worse. Much, much worse. She knocked on my door, and when I opened it she spoke only a few words, very sad and distant, and then withdrew to her old room and locked the door. 

He called for her, as I knew he would. Each of them always seems to know when the other is hurting. Always in the past they have been able to comfort each other, to ease the pain, but this time it was different. This time she refused even to speak to him, and I could hear in his voice that he was suffering too. I didn't know what was wrong, but I wanted to reach out to both of them, to hold them close to me, and make it better. But I knew that I could not, and so all I said was, "I'm sorry, Fox. I'll let you know if anything changes." 

I sat on the sofa for a long time last evening, looking at the Christmas tree, not thinking about much at all. I have never felt so helpless in all my life as I felt last night. Even when she was missing, even when she lay dying in a hospital bed, I felt I had some connection, some way I could reach out to her and provide at least some comfort. But last night the connection was gone. 

Oh, it had not been severed; even in the extremity of her pain she had not gone that far. But the door between us was closed, just as surely as her bedroom door upstairs was closed, and I was standing helplessly on the outside, knowing that my baby girl was on the other side, suffering, and that I could not go to her. 

It is any parent's worst nightmare. 

Finally, I got up, turned off the tree, and went to bed. But I did not sleep. 

I heard her go downstairs, of course, last night after she thought I was asleep. Part of me wanted to go to her, to hold her in my arms and give her love and reassurance, but I knew that when she was ready to accept my comfort she would come to me. And so I stayed in my room, and prayed for her and for the strange, wonderful man she cares about so deeply. I know that faith has become unfashionable in these modern days, but I do believe that God hears our prayers, and that sometimes He answers them. 

Finally, it is morning. I get out of bed and go downstairs at my usual time. My daughter is curled up on the sofa, asleep, an afghan draped over her body. The only light comes from the Christmas tree, and from the soft gray dawn trickling in past the window shades. 

I go around to the front of the sofa, and gaze down at her for a moment. She looks so beautiful lying there. Her face seems so calm and untroubled; it is hard to believe that this is the same woman who arrived on my doorstep last night, despair and hopelessness written on her features. It is even harder to believe that this strong, sensitive, beautiful woman is also the baby who was at my breast not so very long ago. 

As I stand looking down at her, something glints in the corner of my eye, and I drop my gaze to the floor to see a small heap of metal. I drop to my knees and scoop it up: It is a bracelet. A plain, silver bracelet, elegant in its simplicity. Almost without thinking, I turn it over in my hands, and see the inscription: "All my love. -M" 

So that's what this is about. I should have realized, but it's been so long since I have had to worry about such things on my own account. I have been so sure of Bill for so very long, that I can't even remember what it was like before. I am still sure of him, knowing that he thinks of me every day, even as I think of him. And I know that when my time comes, he will be there, waiting for me, just as I waited for him so many times when he was away at sea. 

For a moment I think that I should let her sleep, but the still, soft voice deep inside tells me that it is all right, and time for her to wake up. I don't know where this voice comes from, but it has been with me all my life, and I have come to trust it over the years. I reach out and touch her shoulder. 

"Dana?" I gently shake her. "Dana?" 

Slowly, groggily, she opens her eyes, and my heart flutters with joy as I see the light which has been missing for so very long. "Mom?" 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I say. 

My daughter looks up at me in apparent confusion, but after the briefest of moments the confusion is gone, and there is a look of wonder on her face which I have not seen in ages. I don't know what has changed since last night, but something has. 

Abruptly, her hand flies to her wrist and then she is sitting up and digging frantically through the sofa cushions. She is looking for something, and I suddenly realize what it is. 

"Are you looking for this?" I ask, and she turns to see the bracelet resting in my hand. For a moment, I think she is going to cry, but then she takes it from me and slips it on her wrist. 

"It...it must have fallen off in the night," she says. 

"It's very beautiful." There is a moment of silence, and then I add, because her father is not there to say it, "He's a good man, Dana." 

"I know." She stares at the bracelet, and for just a moment I can see the pain and heartache of last night flicker across her face. Then she looks up at me and says, "Mom, I need to make a call. Do you mind if I use the phone in your room?" 

"Of course not, dear. Give him my love." 

That was three hours ago. She went to my room, and a few minutes later I heard her come out again and go into her own and shut the door. I feel a momentary flutter of anxiety, but the still, soft voice reassures me, and so I go about the business of preparing Christmas dinner. 

There is a knock on the door, and I know before I even open it who will be standing there. There is pain in his eyes, but there is always pain there, and I have come to accept it as part of who he is. This morning it seems there is more pain than usual, but again the still, soft voice reassures me, and I invite him into my home. 

He has come to her, as I knew he would.   
  


Fini   


[Go to the next Silver Bracelet story][2]

   [1]: Transfiguration.html
   [2]: FaithandAcceptance.html
   [3]: Reconciliation.html



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